


all this, and love too

by vulcanistics



Series: such great heights – footy fic prompts [3]
Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Paris Saint-Germain F.C., Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-22
Updated: 2018-10-27
Packaged: 2019-08-05 21:14:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16375118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vulcanistics/pseuds/vulcanistics
Summary: Julian watches as his world crumbles around him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [milleseptcent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/milleseptcent/gifts).



> Set at a fictional party following the victory against Red Star Belgrade.  
> Title from Richard Siken's "Scheherazade."
> 
> Prompted by joyfullymassivetheorist: "I hate you, but I think I hate myself more." (I tend to play around with my prompts a lot and try to interpret them in different ways.)

Presnel makes a move to hug him – to hold him in his arms, to comfort him, to take away the weight of Julian’s confession, to make them normal again – and Julian flinches away.

Down the hallway, in the main section of the house, the rest of the team is singing along to Sexion d’Assaut, and Julian thinks that there never has been a more perfect and a more ironic setting for him to fall apart. He remembers Presnel slipping his headphones over Julian’s head and saying that every Parisian needed to know their basic French hip-hop and rap.

“Don’t,” Julian says.

His voice wavers on the word and Presnel’s mouth twists into a frown. The shape of his lips blur before his eyes, and Julian hates that he can feel himself close to tears. The wetness in his eyes threatens to spill over and Presnel is still standing there in front of him, earnestly apologising for Julian’s feelings, for their misunderstanding, for Presnel not loving him back.

God. He hasn’t cried properly since June, not since football took his heart and shattered it and flung the pieces on to a football field in Kazan. He hasn’t cried since that day and that awful night, and now, here he is, about to cry again because of a broken heart.

“Don’t touch me, Pres, not right now.” He says, wrapping his arms around himself, and focusing on a spot beyond Presnel’s head. He cannot bear to look at Presnel’s gentle, sympathetic and pitying face. There are many things Julian wants, but pity is not one of them, especially not Presnel’s pity.

Presnel’s hands drop to his sides and he takes a step away from Julian, shaking his head, “Drax, Julian, I didn’t know, I’m sorry.”

“I thought you knew, everyone thought you knew, everyone thought that–” Julian begins to say, hating the imploring tone in his voice. In the end, his voice shakes and he loses the fight against his tears. “Everyone who knew thought that you liked me too.”

“I’m sorry,” Presnel says again and Julian feels hysterical hurt and fury bubble up in his chest.

He had been so goddamn stupid to think there was something here. He had misunderstood Presnel’s affection and attention for something else. He had thought that maybe Presnel was into him, that maybe Julian had a chance for a happy ending. He should have known it was too good to be true. He should have known better.

He needs Presnel to stop apologising because it’s not his fault. It’s Julian’s.

Julian shakes his head. He wipes at his eyes and doesn’t look at Presnel when he says, “Just. Please go, I can’t do this right now.”

“Okay,” Presnel says, his voice fading away as he walks away from Julian. “Julian, I’m sorry, I really fucking am. See you at practice.”

The door clicks behind him, leaving Julian alone in the room, along with the ruins of his broken heart and his friendship with Presnel. He has no idea how they’re going to fix this, how he’s going to fall back into an easy friendship with Presnel, how he’s going to deal with the turmoil that’s threatening to crack open his chest.

Julian leans against the wall and sinks to the floor. His phone buzzes and vibrates in the pocket of his jeans and Julian fumbles as he pulls it out to reject the call. Except, it’s Sead and Sead would know what to say to make him feel less pathetic and less heart-broken. Sead would make him laugh and that's what he needs right now.

He answers the phone and Sead’s voice trickles out, “Jule? Why did I just get a text from Presnel saying that I should probably check up on you?”

Julian chokes on a half-laugh-half-sob because of course Presnel did that. The door opens and someone lets out a startled gasp. He looks up to see Thilo and Kylian rushing into the room.

“Julian?” Thilo asks, dropping to his knees next to Julian, sliding his arm behind Julian’s neck. “Dude? I saw Presnel walk out from here. What did he say?”

Julian curls his hand into the soft satin of Thilo’s shirt and drops his head to his shoulder.

Over the phone, Sead asks, voice slightly panicked, “Julian? Why are you crying?”

“Seo, Sead, I fucked up. I fucked up so bad.” Julian sobs brokenly into the phone, aware of Thilo and Kylian staring at him with alarmed wide-eyes. They were never meant to see him like this. He fumbles over his words, struggling to breathe in between trying to talk, “Presnel doesn’t, he doesn’t, Presnel is not– It’s not the same for him.”

“Oh,” Thilo says and takes Julian’s hand in his and squeezes it tightly. Kylian sits down on the bed and frowns. Somewhere in Baku, Sead closes his eyes and shakes his head.

Julian hadn’t realised how desperately he would want to take back the words the moment they were out in the open. He hadn’t realised that Presnel’s startled and surprised expression and his slow shake of the head would feel like the earth crumbling under his feet.

He never should have said anything, should have left it buried under wide smiles and pats on the back. He should not have wanted more than what was permitted for someone like him.

Julian cries into Thilo’s shirt.

Down the hallway, the music changes to a song Julian doesn’t recognise.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heartbreak is painful and nobody said healing was easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompted by anon: "I promised myself I wouldn’t let anyone break my heart, yet here you are."

International break comes and nobody asks him about Presnel.

Julian shoots Thilo a grateful glance and carries on with his life – he runs his laps, kicks the ball, listens to Jogi’s instructions, laughs with Emre, answers the journalists with an easy smile – and pretends as though the last few days haven’t left him hollowed out from within.

But it’s harder not to think of Presnel at night when his phone screen doesn’t light up with notifications of messages from him. He stares at the last message he sent Presnel, asking him to give him space and time. He constantly feels like he needs to claw out his own heart to stop himself from aching so much and maybe distance from Presnel is what he needs. He reads Presnel’s reply – _Take all the time you need. We’ll talk later. I’m sorry._ His words are burned into Julian’s mind, he has read and reread them, but he mouths them out as he reads it again, struggling to hold back tears. He’s exhausted from practice and from struggling to hold himself together.

Nobody said healing was going to be easy.

Besides him, Leroy shifts closer to him and wraps his arm around Julian’s waist. Julian blinks back the advent of his tears and feels a tremor run through his shoulders with the effort of it all.

Leroy whispers in the darkness of their hotel room, “It’s okay, Jule, you’re okay.”

 

They lose to the Netherlands.

 

They lose to France.

 

And Julian feels the familiar weight of loss settling on his shoulders when the whistle blows. They could have won the match but they didn’t. Matuidi pulls him into a hug and Julian smiles wryly as Blaise mutters quiet words of praise. From the corner of his eye, Julian watches Presnel make an aborted step towards him before turning away. The gesture feels wrong, painfully awkward in the way Julian had thought they could never be.

He hides his grimace behind his jersey as he pulls it over his head. He feels Presnel’s eyes follow him as walks off the field with his head down. Julian bunches the fabric of his jersey into a ball and doesn’t turn around to meet Presnel's gaze.

 

He blow-dries his hair in the corner of the PSG locker room and tries not to follow Presnel's movements through the locker room. He tries but he can't ignore the way Presnel's laughter rings the loudest as he throws his arms around Christo, demanding Thilo to give up control of the speakers, while Thilo argues with him. He runs his comb through his hair and watches Presnel in the mirror – he blows Di Maria a kiss, tugs Rabiot's hair tie from him, films Diaby for Instagram, and then, Julian finds himself meeting Presnel's gaze in the mirror.  

Presnel's reflection smiles at him, hesitant and tentative, like he's not sure if he's allowed to, if Julian's alright with it – and Julian hates how it makes his rib cage close in on itself. He hasn't spoken to Presnel in sixteen days and he feels the ache of missing Presnel's bright and vivid presence in his chest. He's not sure what's worse: the pain of his heartbreak or the emptiness that had followed after he asked Presnel for distance. Julian misses him so much and it hurts in his bones.

He offers Presnel a small smile in response and watches as Presnel's eyes widen and his shoulders relax.

“Good goal,” Presnel says, coming to stand behind Julian.

Julian unplugs the hair dryer, rolls the wire around his palm and turns around to face Presnel. The last time they stood in front of each other Julian was in tears and Presnel was staring at him with apologetic wide eyes.

Julian blinks, brushing past the haunting ache of that night, and smiles awkwardly, “Thanks.”

Presnel nods and shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Over Presnel's shoulder, Julian can see Thilo looking in their direction every few minutes, barely concealing his curiosity and concern. Julian glances at the hopeful smile on Presnel's face and wonders if he's waited enough for what he's about to do. Maybe it's time to acknowledge everything that went wrong.

He lifts his fingers and they hover against Presnel’s elbow but he refrains from bridging the gap and letting them linger on Presnel's skin. “Hey, Pres? Can we talk?”

Presnel grins. “Yeah, yeah, that would be– that would be great.”

 

“I missed you,” Presnel says as Julian drops down to sit on the step next to him.

He's quieter than Julian has ever heard him be, cautious and careful about his wording like he’s afraid the wrong word will spook Julian away. It makes Julian frown and pluck at the hem of his team jacket.

“I missed you too. Didn't think I'd end up ignoring you for more than two weeks.”

“Sixteen days,” Presnel says, and Julian knows this already, it’s not like he hadn’t been counting the days, but apparently, so had Presnel.

“Right, yeah. I’m sorry for not speaking to you and for everything else.”

“No, I get it– It makes sense. It made sense, I just.” Presnel pauses to run his finger through his hair.

Julian wraps his arms around his knees and looks towards the ground. It’s as awkward as he feared it would be, and there’s a part of him that wants to stand up and bolt. But Presnel deserves better that, deserves an apology. If he doesn’t see this conversation through, they’ll never even be friends again, and Julian needs them to at least revert to being friends. He can stand the gentle constant pain of heartbreak if it means Presnel is still in his life. He hears Presnel take in a deep breath.

“Did you mean it?”

“What?”

“That night. You said– you said you love me. Did you mean it? Cause–”

Julian snorts. “Cause love’s a big word? I meant it, Presnel. I wouldn’t have said it otherwise.”

“Right. Do you still– I mean, are you still in love with me?”

“It doesn’t go away overnight.”

It’s been months of wondering if Presnel knew, wondering if Presnel felt the same way too, wondering if his touches and words had a deeper meaning to them, wondering if Presnel loved him in the way Julian wanted him to. One night, or in his case, sixteen nights weren’t enough to let go off all his feelings for Presnel.

“Jule, I’m genuinely sorry for everything,” Presnel says quietly.

“I’m sorry too.”  

Julian looks at Presnel from the corner of his eyes – watches him twirl his phone in between his fingers, watches the sheen of tears in Presnel’s eyes, lingers on the pleading smile he has plastered on his face – and sighs.

Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, maybe not next week, but maybe someday soon, they'll go back to being normal. And that will be enough for him.   
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Writing this was cathartic, painful and different kinds of nostalgia (if nostalgia punched you in the face and called you an idiot for reliving the past.) So, if you're reading this, thank you. I'm sorry about the pain. Do leave kudos, comments, and critique. Please be kind cause this fic is a special one, thank you! I'm also on [tumblr.](https://www.kayhavertz.tumblr.com)
> 
> ETA: If you're feeling sad about how this has ended, I'm just gonna chime in and say that there might be a fix-it fic in the works, not from me, of course, but it's being considered. So all hope for a happy ending is not lost!


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